“And how was I supposed to know? Is there a freaking sign on my forehead that says mind reader? I don’t think there is!” I complained to Chase while I slipped on my oldest black converses that were covered in Fi’s sloppy writing.
“It’s common sense that you shouldn’t ask someone if they are pregnant based only on the size of their belly.” Chase shrugged not sharing my anger.
“So you are on that teacher’s side? You think I deserved the two hour long detention that I had to endure?” Was he out of his mind?
He placed his hands in my shoulders and talked slowly as if talking to a child.
“Babe, he is a man!”
I glared at him and shrugged his hands off my shoulder.
Mr. Drummond totally had it coming and I doubt that I was the first one to ask. The guy is walking around with a huge belly, one hand supporting his back and crying when talking about the death of George Washington!
He. Had. It. Coming.
“You are not really mad, are you?” Chase asked wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me close while I tried staying in place. “You were right and he should totally name his kid Bernadette as you suggested.”
My pout melted into a grin at his attempt to humor me.
“I know right?” I giggled and kissed him quickly on the lips “But now we have to go or we will be late for dinner with my parents.”
It was his turn to pout.
“You are no fun Kim!”
“Well…” I giggled while walking out the door “You know that is just not true.”
I winked suggestively and he laughed.
“True.” He rushed after me.
I was beaming, sliding down the hall in my favorite hot pink shirt that read ‘I’ll try being nicer when you try being smarter’, but I could feel that Chase was apprehensive about finally meeting my parents, as my husband I mean.
We talked about it the other night, but no matter how many times I told him that my parents were cool he wouldn’t relax. He wanted to make a good impression so bad that I even caught him tucking his shirt inside his pants, that is before I fixed it, of course.
He was acting so blasé before that it was quite funny watching him squirm now.
“What if they don’t like me?” He asked as we were almost at the house.
“Well, then they’ll just have to kill you and I’ll have to help them dispose of your body, because if the cops found out I would be charged as an accomplice anyway.” I said casually.